What Could Have Been
by TheFairess
Summary: A crack ship between Richard and Cheria that takes place during the six months between the original game and its Future arc. Loosely based on some end dialogue between the two characters, this story plays on that bit of chemistry and what would have happened if Richard had chosen to pursue his "Angel of Joy."


"Cheria." Even the sound of her name was delicious, bringing to mind crisp red fruit as sweet as it was tart. He hadn't been expecting such a treat, nor did he believe he deserved the soothing company—yet there she was, pert and polite with her hands clasped in front of herself.

"Your Highness." She dipped into a curtsey, bowing her head. "Thank you for allowing me this audience. I know you must be busy, and—"

"Cheria. It's my pleasure, always." Richard bowed in return, the limber length of him graceful as a swan's neck. Her hand trembled as he gently took it in his gloved one, and there he felt a stab of guilt—was his presence truly so intimidating when she was without Asbel? With a chaste little dip of his lips against the back of her hand, he straightened and forced a smile. "I'd prefer you call me Richard. We're friends, are we not?"

"O-oh! Of course!" She steadied her other hand by curling it up against her chest, a light blush spreading across her cheeks. "I didn't mean to… what I mean is… thank you! Richard."

The king chuckled, the tenor of his voice cheery and yet hollow. He half-turned toward the length of the hallway she'd entered, offering his arm. "You're too kind. I presume you came on behalf of your relief organization? How may I help?"

"Well, it's… I…" Cheria took his arm—thank goodness she had courage enough for that—and to his relief, the clasp of her hand seem to stop her fingers from trembling. While he started to walk her forward, her head remained turned down toward the floor. She seemed to be searching for words, and the resulting silence was heavy and awkward on his already troubled mind.

"Whatever it is, please don't hesitate for my sake." Richard stooped forward slightly, his honey-colored eyes level with hers. "What manner of king would I be if I turned down a request from my country's own angel?"

She blushed again, the glow to her cheeks almost as red as her hair. Her feet stopped moving and planted themselves to his floor indignantly. "Richard, p-please! It's serious. My organization—we're all but out of supplies and… and the funding is at an all-time low. I wouldn't have come if I wasn't desperate."

"Tsk, desperation too often leads to bad decisions, Cheria—a hard lesson I had to learn. If you need help, don't hesitate to ask. I'll consult the treasury and see if there isn't a way for me to help." Richard all-too-easily slid his hand to her lower back, giving her a gentle push to continue their walk. She followed along with a nervous huff of breath, eyes darting between him and the surrounding hallway. There was no shortage of things to look at—his castle was spacious enough to be airy and cool even in warm weather and luxuriously furnished from generations of rule. The white stone of the floor and walls practically glimmered it was so polished, the tints of gold and glass from the immense windows gleaming in the light of the afternoon.

"Is everything alright?" He wasn't sure how much more of these awkward silences he could take. She was a mouse beside him, shoulders curled inward and cheeks bright with embarrassment—if he let go, even for a moment, he felt she was certain to dash away. Was it her independent nature struggling to ask for help, or was it something more to do with him?

Her gaze immediately darted away. "Yes, I'm… are you… always this familiar with your guests?"

It was Richard's turn to clasp a hand to his chest, his lips and brow furrowing into a show of injury—the actual festering wound of her nervousness around him he was much more careful to hide. "Did I not say we were friends?"

She slipped her hand from his arm, turning indignant as she waggled a finger at him—still blushing, of course. "You're teasing me!"

Richard chuckled, opening an arm wide and shrugging it helplessly. "Tease you? I'd never dream of upsetting so lovely a lady. Why, this is too mild to even be flirting."

"Flirting!" She spun away from him, the ribbons dripping down from her waist flying up in a tizzy. "You know that Asbel and I are—"

"Miles apart without a letter between the two of you for months?" Richard ruffled a hand into his hair, his own gaze frosted caramel when she glared back at him. It was odd, the way his body could be so at ease when his voice, his eyes, his smile had such a sharp edge. The whole mien he displayed was far from the person he'd tried to become since Asbel had spared his life, but what could he say? Old habits died hard.

Cheria gasped, the wound of his words making her eyes water before she quickly brushed the moisture away. With her hands balled into fists at her sides, she turned to face him fully. "What would you know! B-B-Besides, you've no right to… to—"

"Cheria." Richard softened slightly, the tenor of his voice low but firm. "I know you came here with the people of Windsor in mind before anything else and make no mistake—I will do my utmost to help regardless of the sentiments between us. Once I was terrified of rejection, betrayal, and I never would have dreamed of making an advance where it was unwelcome. But you, my dear, have been in denial long enough. Is there no other man in the world who can catch your eye? If you let yourself enjoy devotion and fondness from one who would give such to you wholeheartedly, would you reject the notion without a moment's consideration?"

That did the trick. Cheria was beside herself, the anger confused into a flustering frustration she'd kept pent in for who knew how long. He could see it all—shame in the way she dipped her chin, sadness in the furrow of her delicate brow, and worry in the way she clasped her hands. It was no wonder she'd devoted herself so passionately to her organization; her emotions were a complex jumble between dealing with the burdens of hundreds and the lack of support and tenderness from the one she loved. Without a task to consume all her attention, this was the mess that became visible. Like it or not, she was no pure angel of charity—she was a woman with needs, and the one she needed most was off playing lord.

"Cheria." He practically made music of her name as he closed the distance between them again. "I know it seems sudden. I won't force any decisions on you, but please, for my sake as well as yours, give it some consideration. I'll send for you as soon as I've arranged a decent donation to your cause. Until then, make use of the castle's infirmary and supplies as you deem necessary. I leave the care of my country's most precious assets to you."

It took her a moment to collect herself, the residual shock of the situation starting to blanch away the flush to her face. She couldn't look him in the eye, hands clasped in front of her as she stared at their feet. Finally, after a deep breath, she nodded. "Thank you, Your Highness. It's more than I could have asked for." Without a moment's hesitation, she turned and began to walk away.

And she made it all of ten steps before Richard called after her.

"Cheria, my dear, that's the way to the dungeon. Before I'm scandalized for imprisoning Windsor, would you allow me the dignity of showing you out?"


End file.
